Chemistry
by LadyKailitha
Summary: AU: John Watson is a young man trying to decide what he wants to do with his life after he leaves the army, so he takes an unpaid internship with the Met under DI Lestrade, there he meets and ends up living with the one and only consulting detective Sherlock Holmes. A man who is about to change everything John ever thought possible about himself. Slightly OOC.


**A/N: Okay, I feel the need to add this as I have gotten a number of reviews saying that the characters "aren't Sherlock". This is set when they are in their early 20's. So they wouldn't act they way they do in the series. They haven't the experience. I hope this clears it up.**

When the army agreed to pay for my schooling, I wasn't sure what I really wanted to do. They were going to pay for it, regardless of what it was. I heard tales of buddies getting English lit. majors paid for by the crown. I had joined only a couple years ago after a year or so of drifting, doing nothing. It gave me something to do but somehow I wanted more so I looked into going to university. But I was still unsure what I wanted to do with my life at the age of twenty-two. So, I had accepted a forensic internship to see if it was what I wanted to do with my life after the army.

The science of it all was interesting. I loved medicine but forensics interested me too, so my professor set me up with a friend of his to do a month-long internship. I wouldn't get paid, but I would get the experience. If it was what I wanted to do I could put it on my resume and it would put me ahead of most other applicants.

My professor took me over to New Scotland Yard and I have to admit I was more than a little intimidated. We went past rows and rows of officers, detectives and who knows what else. I resisted the urge to clench and unclench my hands in nervousness. We walked up to a glass door that said in bold black lettering "Detective Inspector Lestrade" and my professor knocked.

"Enter!" called the cockney voice from within. My professor opened the door and let me go in first.

"Henry! Good to see you, mate!" said the man behind the metal and wood desk. He was about forty, with hair that was turning a brilliant shade of silver. He had warm brown eyes that took me in at a glance. I tucked my hands behind my back to prevent me wiping them on the front of my jeans.

"So this is the bright young thing you were telling me about," he said to my professor. Then he turned to me. "I'm DI Lestrade, you'll be part of my team for the next four weeks." He stuck out his hand and I extended mine to take it. Lestrade's hands were warm and callused, the hands of a man that worked for a living.

"Pleasure to meet you, sir. My name is John Watson." I shook his hand once and let go. He smiled at me.

"Well, John. Have a seat. There are some things that you'll need to know before getting started." He indicated for me to sit in one of the two chairs in front of his desk.

"Greg?" my professor inquired gently. Lestrade looked up. "I have to go. Will he be alright in your capable hands?" Lestrade nodded. "John, it'll be fine. You'll do great here." He patted me on the shoulder before taking off.

"Right. First things first, my main forensic tech is Anderson. He's not the brightest bulb in the shed but he's what I've got. Now I already know that you know all the procedures, just try not to step on his toes. My second-in-command is a woman, Sally Donovan. She's tough and most likely she won't like you, but you aren't here to make friends. Is that clear?" I nodded.

"There is one more thing. I feel I need to warn you in advance. There is someone else. He doesn't work every case. He's not even part of my team, technically. He's our wild card. He's young. Younger than you. If the case is weird, or a serial killer, or God knows what else, we call him in. He's not nice; he's rude in fact. But he's brilliant. And he solves cases that would have us twisting for weeks." Lestrade ran his fingers through his hair. "He's mad. Utterly mad. His name is Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock Holmes? He sounded like something out a dime store mystery novel. I wondered if he would look more like Humphrey Bogart or Cary Grant. Being British he probably looked more like Cary Grant. Well…technically Lestrade looked more like Cary Grant or would in a couple more years.

"Ok. Consider me fully warned." I smiled at him.

"Welcome to the team, John." I spent a few hours signing papers and going over procedure, dotting all the I's and crossing all the T's.

We were almost done with all the little things I had to do to make sure the Met wasn't culpable if something happened to me, when a head poked in. "Hey, boss?" the head asked tentatively.

"Oh, Anderson, come in. Anderson, this is John Watson, our new forensic intern. John, this is Anderson."

"Hi," I waved and went back to signing the last of my paper work.

"Hey, I know you wanted me to keep an eye on the newbie here, but there's this huge case in Brighton that they're pulling in all the lead techs to work on, so I won't be here." Anderson completely ignored me.

"Well, if they need you, then they need you. How long do you think you'll be gone?"

"They say at least two weeks."

Lestrade nodded. Anderson poked his head out. There was silence for few minutes.

"YES!" Lestrade hollered. John looked up. "Two free weeks without that idiot. He does his job well enough, but Sherlock won't work with him. This makes my job so much easier. And yours as well."

I just shrugged and grabbed my coat. "I guess I'll see you when you call."

I reached out my hand and he shook it. "Yes. God willing, it'll be soon. Sherlock is going mad from not having a case the past two days."

I raised my eyebrows incredulously. "Two _days_? He's going stir-crazy over a couple of days?"

"Yeah, you really don't want to know."

"Right. Bye, then."

I got my first call two days later.

I put on the ugly blue suit and horrible booties. I snapped on a pair of latex gloves and got to work. I put down numbers and took pictures; everything done with military precision.

I was almost finish when this man strolled in. I blinked. He was tall; taller than Lestrade by a good couple inches. He had this mass of curls that bounced when he walked. He had the most piercing set of eyes I'd ever seen. They were grey with a rim of dark blue around the irises. His pale skin and lean frame only further set the air of mystery about him. There was no doubt in my mind _this_ was Sherlock Holmes.

He glanced around and then rounded on the bunch of us that were huddled in the corner watching him work. He seemed manic, so full of energy.

"Who did the forensics on this?" His voice was a warm baritone and it made me jump. I raised my hand timidly. He glanced me up and down and snarled. He turned to Lestrade, "I want this man on all the cases you call me in on." He pointed to me and I gulped.

Lestrade blinked. "There's a bit of a problem with that you know."

"Yes, yes. But for however long his internship is, I will only work with him."

It was my turn to blink. How did he know I was an intern? I thought Lestrade must have to him but that theory went out the window with Lestrade's next words.

"I don't know how you worked that out; I frankly I couldn't care less. But fine. He'll be your assistant for the duration of his internship." Lestrade got a grin on his face. "That makes him your responsibility."

We looked at him in shock. His grin got wider. "In fact, I hear you're looking for a flatmate. The Yard will pay for his rent during his internship. He can move in with you, and that way when there's a case that we need you on, you can bring him along to do _your_ forensics."

I gulped. Hard. Sherlock Holmes rounded on me and I'm sure looked like a deer caught in the headlights. His amazing eyes narrowed on me and somehow instead of taking a step back I took a step forward. What was happening to me? Why was I attracted to this man? No. Not like that. More like magnets than feelings. I was pulled into his orbit just like that. I was like a moon to his planet.

"Fine."

He went on to solve the case in fifteen minutes.

"Brilliant." The words were out of my mouth before I even realized it. Lestrade chuckled when Sherlock blushed.

"That's not what people normally say," Sherlock muttered.

"What do they usually say?" I ask.

"Piss off," Sherlock muttered. Lestrade laughed outright.

"Go on, you two. I'll call you if we need you for anything else. In fact, John, I'll call you to see how you're settling in with Genius here." I nodded and followed Sherlock out the door. After leaving the crime scene, I stripped off the horrid implements of the trade and tossed them into the biohazard bin.

He looked me over again and this time gave a nod of approval.

"Come along, John."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes." I grabbed my coat and pulled it on as we walked to the street.

"Please, call me Sherlock. Mr. Holmes was my father."

I nodded. The name playing gracefully in mind. Sherlock. Yes, it suited him just fine.

He walked to the curb and a cab pulled up.

He was silent the whole cab ride and spent the time texting. I didn't mind; it meant I could watch him. In the dim light of the cab and the light flashing off his phone, it cast his cheek bones into sharp relief and I couldn't help but wonder if they would feel as sharp as they looked.

The cab finally stopped. He paid the cabbie, went up to the building and turned around.

"Welcome, to 221B Baker Street. My home."

I followed him up the seventeen steps to the first floor flat and looked around. It was marvelous. It was like I had stepped into a wonderland.

"It's amazing." I told him. He smiled at me.

"Your things should already be up in your room. My brother will be coming for dinner, which will be in an hour. That should give you long enough to clean up. I'll explain everything once you're done."

My head was reeling from all the information he threw at me. _A brother? Dear God, there are two of them? _I did as I was bid, however. After I had showered and shaved, I came back downstairs in a clean pair of jeans and a grey flannel shirt with a black v-neck jumper over it. Sherlock nodded his approval again.

"You clean up nicely, John." I blushed as I ran a hand over the jumper.

"Thanks," I beamed.

"Right. This is as much of a shock to me as it is to you, though you way more than myself. The reason my brother is coming over is because I don't want him kidnapping you, throwing around some veiled threats and some not-so-veiled threats and then asking you to spy on me for him."

"He'd do that?" I asked incredulously.

"Sadly, yes. If Lestrade and Molly are correct, and I have no reason to doubt them."

"Who's Molly? Girlfriend?" I asked, looking down at my hands.

"Girls… not really my area," he muttered.

"Oh, right. So have you a boyfriend, then?" Why was I asking him this?

"No."

"Right, so single like me." What the hell was I saying?

He looked at me with mild amusement but before he could get the reply out of his mouth there was a rap on the door below and Sherlock stood up to get it.

I could hear muttering and finally footsteps up the stairs.

"John, this is my brother Mycroft. This is my temporary flatmate, John Watson. He's training to be a forensic tech and will be working with Lestrade for four weeks."

I stood up to greet him and sighed inwardly as I realized he's even taller than Sherlock.

"Pleased to meet you, John."

Dinner was pleasant enough, but Mycroft's questions seemed to take on a keener edge the more the night wore on. Just when I thought I was about to be interrogated, Sherlock stepped in.

"Mycroft," came the warning growl. Mycroft looked up at Sherlock in shock.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Mr. Watson. I realize that my questions were becoming too personal. I got carried away. My apologies."

I nodded. Soon after, Mycroft took his leave and I was left to relax.

"Thanks for that," I told Sherlock as he sat down across from me.

"It's no trouble. Sometimes he forgets that people aren't always criminals to be interrogated."

"Does he work with the police then?" I asked. I would have thought he was more a desk man than a grunt.

"Oh no, he's the British government. He'd tell you that he only occupies a minor position but he wields too much power such nonsense to be strictly accurate."

I blinked. "Okay then." I really didn't know what else to say. The British Government. Shit. Holy fucking shit. This was a bit not good. It was bad enough these blokes clearly came from money, but to have a brother in the government? Shit! It was too late now, I was in too deep.

Just as the panic hit atomic levels, my phone buzzed noisily from my coat pocket. I dashed over to it.

"Hello?" I muttered into the phone. I looked up to see Sherlock smirking at me.

_"John? It's DI Lestrade? I'm calling to see how you're settling in?"_

"Oh, hi. Detective Inspector. I'm fine, I guess. I just got interrogated by Big Brother."

I heard a faint chuckle on the other side. _"So, you've met Mycroft, then? He's a bit intense to be sure. But he's not a bad bloke once you get to know him. Him and Sherlock don't get along but eh? This is Sherlock, he really doesn't get along with anyone. Well… except you."_

"I wouldn't say that," I muttered as I looked over at the man draped over his chair like some male model.

_"I would, mate. I would. Anyway, anything else other than meeting the brother?"_

"Just that so far." I pulled my eyes away from that graceful figure.

"_All right. Let me know if you have any problems_," Lestrade told me before he said his goodbyes and hung up.

"Your boss checking up on you like he said he would?" came the droll voice from the other side of the room.

"Yep." I slipped the phone into my pocket and moved to sit in the chair opposite. It was more homey than the modern leather thing Sherlock was draped over. I swore the man never actually sat in anything. He was either draped over it like a cat or he was crouched on it like a panther ready to strike. As of this moment he was looking at me, his head propped up on his index finger, his legs crossed, with his remaining hand resting lightly over his knee.

I felt my breath hitch as he continued to gaze at me with those striking blue eyes. Not being able to stand it much longer, "Sherlock?" I asked.

"I'm merely observing," came the short reply that really didn't help the matter at all.

"Right. And what do you observe about me?"

He smiled. "Recently returned from a tour in… I'd say Afghanistan. Army paying for your schooling, you are currently in the medical program but are branching out into other sciences before making your decision. Which I heartily approve of. Was a chem. major myself."

"Wow. That's brilliant." I exclaimed.

"Yes, you've said before. So, as you are stuck here for the next month, there are a few things you should know. One, I don't sleep or eat during cases. Slows down my cognitive thinking. Two, I play the violin when I think. I will also go days on end without speaking. I perform experiments. Some of them are quite disgusting. I currently have human eyes in the microwave." I blanched a little at that last one. Not that they were human eyes but that they were in the microwave.

"It's not unsanitary," Sherlock told me. "They are in a plastic bag."

I barked out a laugh. "Well, that's something anyway." I grinned at him, happy that he deduced correctly my reason for the horrified expression on my face. He smiled back.

"Are you still in classes during your internship at the Yard?" he asked as he steepled his fingers under his chin.

"No, out for the summer holiday. I've two months before I go back."

His smile grew wider and I cocked my head to the side in curiosity.

He ignored me and plowed ahead with his questions. "What will you do while not on cases with me?"

"Read. I love a good mystery. I guess that's what drew me to forensics in the first place. It's all about solving mysteries."

"It's supposed to be, yes. But lately I find that people are too reliant on technology and don't use their eyes properly."

I smiled at him. "Well, I don't think I've ever known anyone that sees things the way you do. It's just the most incredibly brilliant thing I've ever had the privilege of witnessing."

That blush crept up to his cheeks again and I found myself blushing along with him.

"You are quite the interesting fellow there, Mr. Watson…" Sherlock smiled. He went over to the window and picked up his violin. He tightened his bow and set it to the strings. All at once the air was filled with such music, the likes of which I've never heard before, nor have I heard since. It was deep and filled with this melancholy that made my heart ache at its sound. You could almost hear the tears fall, the heart break, and broken sounds of sobs at the sheer loneliness. It was beautiful.

It took me a while to find my voice after he stopped. "You play beautifully," I told him.

"I- thank you," was all he said before gently putting the instrument away and stalking off to his room. He closed the door behind him with a slam. I jumped at the noise. I wondered if I had done anything or said something wrong.

Checking the clock on the wall, I decided to go to bed. It was late and it had been a rather whirlwind day. I stripped down to my pants and crawled into bed. The last thing I recalled as I drifted off to sleep was that pair of gorgeous blue eyes.

I woke up to rolling thunder and crashing lightning. I looked at the clock and though it was nearly pitch black outside, my alarm clock read half past nine in the morning. I was usually up by six so this surprised me greatly. Perhaps my day yesterday had worn me out more than I thought.

I could hear tinkering in the kitchen and grabbed my bathrobe before making way downstairs.

When I got to the kitchen, I saw Sherlock making tea. He looked up and took in the state of what I was wearing and he lifted one delicate eyebrow and smirked before turning and popping some toast in the toaster.

"I'm making some breakfast. Want anything?" he murmured. His voice sent shivers up my spine.

"Just some tea, and one of those slices of toast. I'm not really hungry this morning," I told him.

He nodded and went about his work. I swore to God it was like a bee in front of its hive, dancing. It was highly erratic and entirely too graceful to be fair. He caught me watching him and he winked. I blushed a bright pink and looked down at my hands. _And just what do you think you're doing there, boy-o? You're acting like a school boy with a crush._ As much as I wanted to deny it, there was no going for it. I was in love with a man. A man I had only met yesterday, no less.

The next few days were a blur. There was a case that had Sherlock running on empty for days. He growled in frustration and threw the book he was reading against the wall. He gripped his hair and screamed. I jumped from my place on the couch.

"Sherlock?" I stood up and took a step his direction. He looked at me, his eyes wild. He stared through me like I wasn't there for about a minute before he sank to his knees.

"It's no good, John. I can't solve it. It's horrifying to contemplate. Donovan and Anderson will be snickering through their fingers. 'Oh, the great Sherlock Holmes can't figure it out…'" He looked down at the floor as I moved to kneel in front of him.

"Then they are fools."

He looked up into my eyes, those eyes boring into my soul. "I suppose." He looked down and away.

I grabbed his chin and turned it gently. "They are fools, but even I know that if you can't solve it then no one can, and that is a tragedy. And I've only known you for a few scant days."

Those eyes looked at me again. This time they held such emotion like I'd never seen. It was so intense, it held almost an incandescent light. Suddenly Sherlock's eyes went wide and he gasped.

"That's it!" He jumped up and ran out the door in his pajamas and housecoat. The idiot was completely barefoot as well. I grabbed my coat and chased after him. I barely made it to the cab before it sped off.

"So what's this about then?"

"You may not be a genius, John, but as a conductor of light, you are unbeatable."

I figured that was the highest praise anyone had ever gotten from the man and it made me warm inside.

"Did you remember your wallet?" I asked, trying to push down the warm glow that threatened to ignite.

He just smiled at me. Of course he hadn't, nor his mobile either. And he calls me the idiot.

We were back at the crime scene. I paid the cabbie and I dashed off after Sherlock, pulling on my coat.

There he was running around, like the mad man he was. Finally he found what he was looking for and jumped for joy. I just smiled and handed him the latex gloves and evidence baggie he insisted I keep on me at all times. He flashed me his most brilliant smile and took them with a nod of thanks.

Sherlock put whatever it was he had found in the baggie and then looked around. He spotted a bobby and dashed off. I scrambled to follow. When I got there I could hear the bobby talking into his radio.

"Yeah, can you get Lestrade down here? Yeah. He's says he 'solved the case', whatever that means. Yeah. Just hurry up. He seems a bit shady to me."

Sherlock huffed, looking like an offended peacock. How he managed to look that dignified in his current state I'll never know. But there he was pacing back and forth as we waited for Lestrade.

"So," the bobby asked leaning over to whisper to me. "Is he your mad man?" I laughed and Sherlock glanced over at us in curiosity.

"No. He belongs to no one. He is his own." Though I smiled, it didn't reach my eyes. I wished he belonged to me. I often wondered over our time together what his skin would feel like. Would it be cold and sharp, like the alabaster it resembled or would it be warm and soft, like the man underneath that sharp exterior? I wondered what it would be like to run my fingers through those inky locks; would they be smooth and silky or would they be coarse?

I was shaken out of my reverie when I heard a car pull up behind us. I turned to see Lestrade huff as he got out of the police car.

"Thank you, sergeant. I've got this." The bobby went back to his beat. Lestrade looked at Sherlock's state of dress and raised an eyebrow. I had to stifle a laugh. He looked just like a disapproving parent who had been called in at school about his son and found him sulking in the dean's office.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade inquired. Sherlock lit up when he saw the detective. I actually chuckled over that one.

He started babbling about light and ideas and evidence so fast that it just flew past me but it seemed that Lestrade was no slouch despite what Sherlock said, because he seemed to be keeping up.

"Right, and this is evidence needed to convict the brother?"

Sherlock nodded. Lestrade took the evidence baggie, got back in his car and drove off. I huffed.

"The least he could have done is offer us a ride back to Baker Street." I whined. Sherlock laughed and hailed a cab. I paid again and huffed as we exited the cab.

"You know, I almost think you forgot your wallet deliberately. You do know I'm a poor college student? The Yard is only paying for my bills. Anything else comes straight out my bank account which was never that high to begin with."

Sherlock looked crestfallen and I felt bad.

"I didn't mean to forget my wallet, John. I promise. I'll make it up to you." I nodded.

"Sorry I yelled. It's just that not having a paying gig right now makes things stressful. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

He looked marginally better at that. He gave me a weak smile and walked into our flat. I followed slowly.

"Hey, do you think you'll need me in the next couple hours? I thought I'd give Mike and Bill a ring and head down to the pub for a pint."

"No, I'll be fine, John," he murmured gently.

"You sure? And just to be clear, I'm not heading off because we've had a row. I'm blowing off some steam so that it doesn't happen again, all right?"

Sherlock's smile was a little brighter. He nodded and I texted my mates. I made my way to the corner pub.

We laughed, we chatted. The night was going great until this bimbo in a pushup bra tried to hit on me.

"Look, I don't want to dance. I dance like a monkey humping a football, for fuck's sake." I told her after her third attempt.

"Maybe you can show me your moves in the bedroom then…" she purred, her face close to mine, her breath stinking of alcohol. Mike and Bill laughed. I blushed. Yes, yes, I was the Casanova of the campus but that didn't mean that I went home with any old slut that pushed her tits in my face. Plus, when I closed my eyes I could hear a soft baritone purring in my ear.

"Look, hon," I told her, starting to feel seriously annoyed. I leaned in close and said quite clearly, "You ain't my type. I prefer cocks to tits." She straightened up fast and scrambled out of there like someone had set her rear on fire.

"Since when did you bat for the other team, John?" Mike asked.

"Never. But she wasn't getting the message otherwise." _Since I met a mad man named Sherlock Holmes,_ was the undercurrent of thought.

Bill laughed. "Hey, there ain't nothing wrong with both. Hell, I am bi." John looked up at his friend.

"Really? Chicks and blokes?" I asked, intrigued.

"Oh, yeah. Really opens up quite the range of possibilities."

_Possibilities. _I thought. Yes. "It's been a recent thing I guess," I confessed. "I never thought about doing a bloke before, but there's this one guy. Damn, he's like the most incredible thing on two legs ever."

I pulled out my phone. I flicked it open and went searching for the picture I had on my phone. I buried the photo because Sherlock liked to steal my phone and use it to text criminals. When I finally found it, I showed it to them.

Bill whistled appreciatively and even Mike nodded his approval.

"What's his name?" Mike asked.

"Sherlock Holmes." I replied wistfully.

"A posh name for a posh bloke," Bill said.

"I'm guessing he's got no idea you have the hots for him?" Mike asked.

I laughed. "Not sure about that one, to be honest. He sees _everything_. And…" I blushed. "I think he's been flirting with me…." I ducked my head to hide the deeper blush that spread across my cheeks.

"So why haven't you boned this chap, then?" Bill asked.

"I've like known him for a week." I admitted.

They stared at me in shock. "You've fallen hard, mate." Mike said, overstating the obvious.

"Don't think I don't know it," I muttered unhappily.

They patted my back in commiseration. I got a little tipsier than I had planned. I was glad that I had great mates that didn't care what my sexuality was. I waved them off and made my way back to Baker Street and that mad man. About a block from home, I got pulled into an alley and I felt a sharp point in my back. I tried to fight back but there was more than just the one. Three more oozed out the shadows and waded into the fight. They took my coat, watch, wallet and shoes.

I turned on my side and I coughed up blood. I'm not sure how long I lay in that blind alley but I heard sirens and a very distressed Sherlock.

"John! Oh God! John!" he cried. I felt him pull me into his arms. "No! God! Don't leave me. I just found you. I can't live without you. Please, John, stay with me." He began rocking me back and forth.

I heard Lestrade through the fog. "The ambulance will be here soon, Sherlock. He'll be okay." Even I didn't believe him.

"John, I need you. I never needed anyone before. But I do. It has only been a week since I met you and I already love you more than my own life; please John, don't leave me."

I blacked out after that. When I woke up in hospital, I looked over to see Sherlock curled up on a chair, clearly exhausted. I heard a cough to the other side of me and there was my boss.

"Hey, boss," I croaked. Lestrade chuckled.

"I've never seen him like that before, John. He was really worried when you didn't come home."

I looked over at his sleeping form and shook my head.

"I didn't mean to worry anyone, honest. The pub isn't that far from home. I couldn't afford a cab being piss poor. I was almost home. I thought there was only one maybe two." I winced from the pain. I stopped to let my head clear a bit before continuing. "But there were four of the little shits. I couldn't even get a good look at them." I looked up at him, worried that I had let him down. "They came at me so fast."

Lestrade shook his head. There would be no way to find them with no description of the attackers. "I've also never seen him cry, John. But that what he did when we found you. I always thought he didn't _do_ emotions. That's what he kept telling me, anyway. He-" he trailed off.

"Told me he loved me?" I asked, quietly looking over at my, _my_ mad man.

"So you were conscious for that?" I nodded. "Good, because that was the most beautiful confession I've ever heard and my wife is a huge fan of romantic comedies."

I chuckled.

"Do you love him, John?" he asked. I nodded. "Brilliant, because I'd have beat the shit out of you otherwise." Lestrade left, and as I looked over at Sherlock, he stirred. I smiled. He straightened up, looked over at me and a smile lit up his whole face. I stretched out my hand to him and he leapt to take it.

"My beautiful mad man," I murmured as he stroked my knuckles. He looked up at me in surprise. He must have heard the possessive in my statement.

"My John," he replied and pressed his lips to the knuckles he had been rubbing so fondly.

"I was conscious in the alley way," I told him.

"Ah."

"But I was on my way home to tell you I love you. I talked to my mates, they both thought I should tell you. They're happy for me."

"I thought you were straight, John." It wasn't a question.

"I was in love you that first day. Apparently, I'm bi-sexual. Or maybe just Holmes-sexual." I giggled. He smiled fondly.

"Well, then." He smiled and leaned in close. I raised my head to meet him and as our lips touched the world melted away.

He pulled back and rested his forehead on mine. "I meant what I said, John, I can't live without you. I don't want to. Stay with me."

"Oh, Sherlock. I'm in the army, remember? Once I'm done with my degree, they're going to ship me off to some hell hole to get shot at and who knows what else."

He bowed his head. "I know that, but promise me you'll come back to me every time. Please?"

"I promise, Sherlock. Every time. You will be my base." I stroked his cheek and found it was soft and warm. His cheekbones were like heaven.

He pressed his lips to mine again and I laced my fingers through his hair, those beautiful silken locks. Softer than anything I have ever felt. He broke away and laughed a watery chuckle.

A week later I was released from hospital, and Sherlock was there to pick me up. He helped me into the cab. He helped me up the stairs. He laid me gently on his bed with a sweet kiss to my forehead.

As I slept, I dreamt of him in my arms. When I woke, my dreams became reality. There on the bed next to me wrapped in my arms was my mad man. I snuggled closer, breathing in his warmth. He purred in response. He actually purred. My pulse spiked and my breathing hitched. His eyes opened up and he smiled at how entangled we were.

"Good morning, my John," he whispered as he nuzzled my hair. I gave him a quick squeeze before lifting my head to press my lips to his.

"Morning, my beautiful mad man." Sherlock chuckled and pulled me flush against him. I couldn't believe this was happening to me. Little ordinary me, with this brilliant mad man. I must have done something really special to deserve be this happy.

"Shower." I groaned. I wasn't sure if I could stand up long enough to take one. He smiled at me slyly and suddenly I got what he was suggesting.

"I love you…" I murmured, each word filled with lust. Sherlock chuckled. He helped me stand and walked me to his bathroom. He plopped me on the toilet and carefully removed my clothes. I watched in fascination as he slowly removed his own clothing and turned on the shower.

He was even more beautiful without clothing than he was with. I could see every inch of his milky skin. He was a Greek god. Or David. Divine, intelligent, every curve and line of his muscle clearly shone on his body with grace and elegance. Above all that, he was mine. Dear God, was he ever mine.

He wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me to me feet, and a short stumble later we were in the shower and I moaned as the hot water hit my aching body. He merely held me up as washed myself. I had never felt more loved then at that moment. We got out of the shower and he toweled me dry.

He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I'll be right back. I'm just going to get us some things for us to wear." I pouted and he laughed. "You've not fully recovered, John. There will be time enough for that later."

I looked up into those eyes, "You promise?" He nodded and I sighed, resigning to later. He kissed my lips and went in search of clothes.

And sure enough once, I was able to make it up and down the seventeen steps to our flat without getting winded, we made love. It was messy and horrible but we laughed and tried again. Both of us virgins in our way. I've tried writing about that first time and it makes me laugh every time. We were disgustingly sentimental and as Sherlock calls it, highly maudlin. You don't need to read about it, trust me on that one.

I decided after my mugging that I needed to become a doctor. I found I had a greater respect for those that saved my life over those that caught my muggers. Well…Sherlock and Mycroft did that. Which is probably why I didn't have the respect for the forensic techs like I ought to have had. But by finally deciding on a medical degree, I got to spend four delightful years in the arms of my mad man. My last year as med student they shipped me off to far-flung places. I'm grateful for those years but that is another story and another chapter in my life with the consulting detective known as Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
